Authors: Tracy Madison
“Julia! Stop ignoring me,” my mother said, her tone exasperated. “The men are fine.”
“This is a difficult time for construction,” Dad said. “How has the current climate . . .?”
My mother, apparently tired of my rude behavior—and who could blame her?—pulled on a lock of my hair. Hard enough that it stung. “Ow!” I yelped. “Okay, okay. You have my attention. What?”
“Darling,” she said, all sweetness and light. “I thought you and Jameson were becoming serious. I’m quite perplexed why you’d bring another man as your guest if that’s the case.”
Oh, dear Lord. I did not want to talk about Jameson. “One date. Not nearly enough to be described as serious.” Hm. Not quite true. I had serious feelings, attraction, whatever, for Scot, and they’d been there almost from the start.
“But see, Gregory, that’s exactly why I think it’s smarter to select a profession based first on something you feel passionate about. Then find ways to turn that passion into success. That’s where these other elements come into play,” Scot said. “But I know a lot of people don’t believe . . .”
“Are you and Scot dating?” Mom asked. “Or is he just a friend?”
Oh. My. God. Way too much going on for my brain to take in. Scot seemed to be holding his own for now, so I tuned him out and focused on Mom. “Yes, we’re dating.” For a few more days, anyway.
“You and Scot or you and Jameson?”
“Scot. Me and Scot.” Wasn’t that what she’d asked?
“So you’re not dating Jameson?”
“Mom! Why is this so important to you? No . . . yes . . . sort of.” I counted to three. “I don’t know. Jameson and I haven’t established anything yet.”
She twisted her napkin between her fingers. “I do wish I had known that. Your father made it sound as if you two had hit it off splendidly. So, dear, we thought it would be nice—”
“We did. Hit it off, I mean. And I like him well enough. But—”
“Gregory! Susanna! How are you two lovebirds doing?” A masculine voice came from the side of me, just out of my line of vision.
My mother paled. “I’m sorry, Julia,” she whispered.
Huh? Frustration merged with curiosity. I craned my neck and turned my upper body, and saw . . . oh, dear God, no. I had to be hallucinating. I closed my eyes for a millisecond, hoping that this was some sort of a mental breakdown. But it wasn’t. I opened my eyes to see Jameson taking the chair next to my father.
Fuck, right? Jameson was here. In Las Vegas. With me, my parents, and
Scot.
I groaned. Yes, an audible groan slipped from my mouth.
“Please accept my apologies for being late,” Jameson said as he unfolded his napkin and put it on his lap. “My flight was a tad behind schedule.”
Maybe if I prayed hard enough, the floor would crack open
and swallow me whole? I squeezed my eyes shut again and prayed as hard as I knew how. Nothing. God, apparently, wasn’t listening.
Okay, then. I’d have to make the best of the situation. I glared at my mother before smiling at Jameson. “Wow, Jameson! This is a surprise,” I somehow managed to say. “I had no idea you were coming. How . . . uh . . . how did this happen?”
“Julia, it’s so nice to see you. And wow is right. You look magnificent,” Jameson said as he gestured for the waitress. “Gregory phoned me yesterday afternoon with an invitation. Once I learned you would be here without an escort, I naturally agreed to join in the festivities.”
What the hell was my father up to? First a bet and now this? We were going to have a long-overdue talk once we were all in Chicago again. “I see. Well, it’s nice you’re here. But I—”
Scot cleared his throat. “I think what Julia is trying to say is that she already has an escort. Me.”
Jameson looked from Scot to me with uncertainty. I was at a loss. Here, sitting across from me, was the perfect-for-me-on-paper man, and next to me the heart-wants-what-the-heart-wants man. I liked them both. I just liked one way more than the other, and on very different levels. And that wasn’t Jameson’s fault.
My father broke the agonizing silence first. “Jameson Parkington, meet Scot Raymond. Jameson is an attorney, and the son of a friend and client. Scot owns a small construction company, and is a . . . friend of Julia’s. We’ve been having quite the illuminating conversation. Maybe you can add some insight, if we bring you up to speed, Jameson.”
God, no. Scot would be double-teamed. I sent my mother a pleading look, hoping she’d understand and take my side. Just this once. Surprisingly, she did.
“Gregory,” she chided. “This is supposed to be a work-free weekend. Can we please eschew all talk of business for the remainder of this meal?”
My father nodded, but I could tell he wasn’t wholly pleased. I was, though. For about thirty seconds flat. Because that was when the posturing started.
Jameson threw the first blow. Oh, not in the physical sense, but he still packed quite a punch. “Julia and I spent a terrific day at the zoo last weekend,” he said. “I hadn’t been there in years, but we had a wonderful time for our first date. Didn’t we, Julia?”
“Yes.” I gulped some coffee, hoping the caffeine would startle my numb brain cells awake. So, you know, I could speak in more than one-word sentences. “Wonderful.”
“Last weekend?” Scot touched my arm. “You canceled our date because you were ill, and then spent the day at the zoo with him? Is this true?”
“Oh, were you ill, Julia?” Jameson’s ridiculously green eyes brightened. “You were the picture of health on Sunday. I’m glad you recovered so quickly.”
“My date with Scot was on Saturday. I . . . um . . . felt a lot better by Sunday.” I reached under the table and put my hand on Scot’s knee. Just so he remembered whom I’d come to Vegas with. “It was the NyQuil. You know, the nighttime—”
Scot’s lips twitched. “Sniffling, sneezing, sore throat, coughing, aching, stuffy head, fever, so-you-can-rest medicine.” He looked at Jameson. “My hat’s off to you, Jameson. It takes a lot of confidence to plan a first date on a Sunday afternoon. Good for you.”
Jameson’s nose flared the slightest bit, but that was the only sign of his frustration. “Ah, but Julia is an animal lover. The zoo is less crowded on Sundays, which made the day the perfect choice for our first date.”
“It was nice! I also enjoyed our first date, Scot,” I said. “Dinner with your family was very . . . um . . . enjoyable.”
Jameson laughed. “Now, that’s confident! Planning a family dinner for a first date.”
Oh. God. I needed to derail this. Now.
“Mom,” I said loudly. “Tell us about the renewal ceremony. That’s the reason we’re all here. When is it?”
My mother, bless her magically softened heart, understood exactly what I needed and went with it. “The service is right here, in one of Mandalay Bay’s chapels. Do you know they have three? It’s at seven o’clock sharp, so please don’t be late. They have us booked in between two other couples.” Her eyes filled with emotion. I wished I had a camera, because she glowed with beauty. Nothing intangible about that, thank you very much. “And I meant to ask you right off, darling, but with all the excitement forgot. Will you be my maid of honor again? I won’t make you wear anything peach.”
“Oh! Of course, I will.” Tears misted in my eyes, screwing with my vision. “I would love that. Thank you for wanting me.”
“Who else would I want?” Mom said softly. “You’re my only daughter.”
Jameson leaned across the table and grasped my hand. Scot’s leg jerked beneath my other hand. “Gregory asked me to stand as his best man, and I was honored to say yes. We’ll stand together for your parents, Julia.”
I looked at my father in shock. “W-Why?”
“Well, Julia, when your mother shared that she was going to ask you to stand for her, I felt it appropriate to ask Jameson to stand for me. We’ve grown quite close recently. Besides, with you two kids dating—”
“What? No . . . that’s—”
Scot placed his hand on top of mine and squeezed. I
stopped, breathed, and remembered that this was about my parents. Not about Jameson and me. Or Scot and me. Just my parents. If Dad wanted Jameson as his best man, for whatever reason, then who was I to create an issue over it? “Isn’t that nice,” I said as sweetly as I could.
Somehow, I managed to keep the peace through the rest of the meal. This was easier once we were served food and Jameson and Scot were busier chewing than posturing. Mom and Dad, believe it or not, did their best to fill in the gaps with discussion about their upcoming vagabond lifestyle.
After we finished eating, Mom pulled out my gift from her handbag. You know, the gag gift. The maid-only-lasted-three-weeks gift. Not—and I repeat with great emphasis,
not
—a wedding gift.
“Tonight after the ceremony, your father and I have special plans. For just the two of us.” She pushed her plate aside and set the wrapped present in front of her. “Do you mind if I open this now, darling?”
“Maybe you should wait and open it in private,” I suggested firmly. “I bought that before I knew you guys were doing this. It isn’t meant as a wedding gift, Mom.”
I shouldn’t have bothered. She was already ripping into the wrapping paper with all the glee of a kid on her birthday. I bit my bottom lip. This wasn’t going to be pretty. Well, pretty embarrassing, maybe.
A zillion apologies gathered on my tongue, waiting to be said the second she realized what the presents were. Maybe, in private, she’d see the humor in them. But here in public, I didn’t think so. Crumpling the wrapping paper into a ball, she set it aside and then pried off the tape that held the plain white box closed.
“Remember what you said, Mom . . . about how my presents
show my terrific sense of humor.” My cheeks heated. “Just something to keep in mind.”
I tried to console myself with the very gratifying fact that I hadn’t purchased her the edible underwear or body chocolate I’d considered. I mean, yeah, those would have been hilarious choices, but not under these circumstances.
My dad, Jameson, and Scot watched with polite interest, because that’s what you do when someone is opening a present. The lid came off, and Mom unfolded the tissue paper I’d wrapped around the items. I held my breath.
Her eyes narrowed. She tilted her head to the side. It took her a minute to figure out what she was looking at. But when she did, she gasped in surprise. “Tattoo hosiery? When would I ever wear such a thing, Julia?” she asked in her coolly modulated tone. “And where?”
Yep, there she was: the mother I knew and loved.
I swallowed. “They’re sexy, Mom! They have a seam up the back, and black butterflies swirling around the calf. I thought you might find them . . . um . . . fun.”
My dad fished his glasses out of his pocket. “Let me see those, Susanna.”
She removed the offending package of tights and passed them to my father. Her gaze returned to the box and she inhaled a sharp-sounding breath. Yep, she’d seen gift number two. “Handcuffs! You bought me
handcuffs
. . .”
Fuzzy pink handcuffs, to be exact. And they were a steal at their sale price of ten dollars. “I . . . uh . . . thought they went well with the tights,” I offered. And then, because I was trying so hard to find a way of making these gifts acceptable, when they were only meant to be jokes, I burst out with, “You can role-play! You and Dad. He can be the cop and you can be . . . um . . . a . . . a dancer.”
Jameson looked at me as if he’d never seen me before, and Scot gave a sort of gasp/chuckle. Out of humor or shock, I couldn’t say, but I hoped for the former.
Mom arched an eyebrow. “Role-playing? You mean . . . Oh! My goodness, what a thought.” Now her cheeks turned pink.
“Actually, Susanna, these—” Dad turned the package over in his hands and looked at the woman modeling the tights on the back. He cleared his throat with a little cough. “Julia’s right, cupcake, they are sexy. And you have great legs. I can’t wait to see you in them.”
My breakfast climbed up my throat a little.
Mom batted her eyelashes at Dad. “Really, Gregory?”
He coughed again. “Tonight
is
our honeymoon.”
The pink in her cheeks deepened to scalding red. “Well. Yes, it is, isn’t it. No promises, but I’ll think about it.” Facing me again, she said, “You have such
unique
tastes in gifts, Julia. I never know what to expect. But thank you, darling, for the . . . thought.”
Finally, breakfast came to an end. Mom and Dad left for a day of pampering at the hotel spa, leaving me with two not very happy men. Disappointment churned that I wouldn’t be alone with Scot, but I couldn’t ignore that Jameson was here.
“So, how should we spend the day?” I asked, glancing at Scot. His jaw was set in that hard line. The egg-cracking one. “We can gamble or check out the strip or see if there’s a show this afternoon or . . .”
“I have a full day of work to deal with before seven,” Jameson said in a tight voice. “I’ll have to pass on any excursions for now. But I’ll see you tonight at the ceremony.” He nodded at Scot. “It was a . . . pleasure to meet you.”
Scot nodded back. “You too. Sorry you have to work. It can’t wait until Monday?”
“Unfortunately, no.” Jameson stood and came around to my side of the table. He gave me a quick smooch on my cheek before whispering, “We’ll talk later, Julia. But you should know that I’m keeping my hat in the ring.”
Of course he was. He’d sort of made that clear. Crystal.
With that, he strode away with the sure steps of a man who was used to getting what he wanted.
I exhaled a long and noisy sigh. “I’m so sorry, Scot. I had no idea he’d be here.”
“I noticed.” Scot twisted in his seat toward me. “Does Jameson know that you two aren’t committed?”
“Yes. Well, he should. But my parents—”
“Would like it if you were,” he filled in. “I get it. Families have a way of thinking they know what’s best for us. Even if they don’t.”
“Exactly.” I sighed again. “Anyway, I totally understand if this is too much for you to deal with. You don’t have to come tonight, Scot. I know this is weird.”
“Quit trying to dissuade me from family events. I like your parents, and I’d like to be there. If you still want me there.”
“I do! I just don’t know how Jameson is going to act. Or my parents, for that matter. The last thing I want is for you to feel uncomfortable.” Well, I didn’t really want Jameson to feel uncomfortable, either. Dang my father!